Viktor’s POV

The air inside the dimly lit warehouse was stale, a pungent mix of oil, mildew, and dried blood. I inhaled deeply, savoring it, letting the familiar scent settle into my bones. It was a scent that brought memories of battles long fought, of bloodlines that had been severed, and of promises that were yet to be fulfilled.

I could hear Ivan’s footsteps echoing through the hall before I saw him. The sound was deliberate, each step a testament to the strength that came with being one of the undead. Strigoi weren’t known for their grace—no, their presence demanded attention, a reminder that they were the apex predators of our world. And Ivan was no exception.

“Viktor,” Ivan greeted, his voice low and raspy, as if every word he spoke was dragged up from the depths of hell itself. He emerged from the shadows, his pale skin practically glowing in the dim light, his eyes glowing a brilliant, malevolent red.

“Ivan,” I replied, inclining my head ever so slightly. It was a calculated gesture—just enough respect to acknowledge his power, but not enough to submit. In this world, respect was everything, but submission was death.

Ivan smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that was almost feral. His teeth glinted, sharp and elongated. “I trust you’ve found everything to your liking?” he asked, gesturing to the darkened room around us.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s as… welcoming as ever.”

He chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down my spine. “Good. I’d hate to think our hospitality wasn’t up to your standards.”

I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Around us, other Strigoi lingered in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with the hunger that never seemed to leave them. I could feel their energy, their need to feed, to destroy, to bring chaos to the world that had once denied them. It was intoxicating, being surrounded by that kind of raw power.

But power meant nothing without direction, without purpose. And that was why I was here. Why I had aligned myself with Ivan, despite every instinct in my body screaming that he was dangerous. Because Ivan had a purpose. A vendetta.

“Tell me, Viktor,” Ivan said, circling me, his eyes never leaving mine, “how is our little princess?”

“Alive,” I answered simply, meeting his gaze head-on. “For now.”

His expression darkened, and I saw a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “She shouldn’t be alive. None of them should have survived.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling the leather of my gloves tighten against my skin. I understood his rage. I understood the deep, festering wound that Ruby Romanova represented. She was supposed to be dead. Her entire bloodline was supposed to be wiped from existence, their legacy nothing more than a forgotten memory. And yet, she survived. She, the last heir to a royal family that had long kept Strigoi in the shadows, in fear.

“She’s stronger than we anticipated,” I said carefully. “More resilient. There’s something about her…”

“Something unnatural,” Ivan spat, cutting me off. He stepped closer, his red eyes boring into mine. “You said you could take care of her, Viktor. You said you’d bring me her head.”

“I will,” I assured him, keeping my voice steady. “But she’s protected. The dhampir girl—Sophie—she’s stronger than most guardians. She has a bond with Ruby. They’re almost inseparable.”

Ivan’s nostrils flared, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t care about the dhampir,” he snarled. “I care about her.” He paused, and his expression softened, a dangerous, almost wistful look crossing his face. “You know,” he began, his voice turning softer, almost melancholic, “I met Ruby’s father once.”

This was new. I straightened, every muscle in my body tensing as I listened.

“It was years ago before I turned myself into a strigoi back when I was just commoner in the moroi society,” Ivan continued. “Back when the Romanovas were at the height of their power. They held a grand ball—do you remember, Viktor? The entire royal court was there. A display of wealth, of arrogance. It was sickening.”

I nodded. “I remember.”

“I met her father in a quiet corner of that ballroom,” Ivan said, his eyes distant, as if he were reliving the memory. “He looked at me like I was dirt. Like I was nothing. And when I extended my hand to him, you know what he said?” Ivan’s lips curled into a snarl. “‘You don’t belong here.’”

The air grew colder, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Ivan’s rage was palpable, like a living, breathing entity that filled the room.

“I promised him,” Ivan continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, “that one day, I would show him who truly belonged. That I would tear apart everything he held dear and leave him with nothing but ashes.”

“But he’s dead now,” I pointed out carefully, choosing my words with precision. “Your vendetta died with him.”

“No,” Ivan growled, and the power behind his voice made the air around us vibrate. “His legacy lives. Through her. And I will see that legacy destroyed.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive. I knew better than to interrupt him now. Ivan’s vendetta wasn’t something that could be reasoned with, nor was it something that could be quelled by logic or time. It was a fire that burned within him, a fire that had been stoked for years. And now, it was reaching its peak.

“Then why keep her alive?” I dared to ask. “Why not kill her now, while she’s vulnerable?”

Ivan looked at me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something—something almost human—in his gaze. “Because,” he said softly, “death is too merciful. I want her to suffer. I want her to watch everything she loves crumble. Just like I did.”

I swallowed, a knot forming in my throat. This was more than revenge. This was destruction. And Ruby, the last of the Romanov line, was at the center of it all.

“So, what’s your plan?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation, to focus on something—anything—that would keep that look out of Ivan’s eyes.

“We’ll take her piece by piece,” Ivan said, a twisted smile forming on his lips. “First, we’ll isolate her. Break her trust. Make her doubt everything she knows. And then, when she’s at her lowest, when she’s begging for death, we’ll give her the mercy her father denied my people.”

“And her dhampir?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Kill her,” Ivan replied without hesitation. “In front of Ruby. Let her see the consequences of her defiance. Let her feel the weight of her choices.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I could feel the blood thrumming in my veins, the adrenaline that came with knowing we were on the verge of something monumental. Something that would change everything.

“Viktor,” Ivan said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked at him, and his gaze softened, just a fraction. “You’ve been loyal to me for years. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. But this task… this is the most important one. Do not fail me.”

“I won’t,” I promised, and for a moment, I believed it. I believed that I could carry out his orders, that I could bring Ruby Romanova to her knees. But as I turned away, leaving Ivan behind in that dark, oppressive room, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered a truth I wasn’t ready to face.

What if I wasn’t strong enough? What if, in the end, Ruby’s light proved brighter than all the darkness we could muster?

Shaking off the thought, I steeled myself. I couldn’t afford doubt. Not now. Not when the shadows of the past were rising to reclaim their throne.